In Pursuit of Holiness and Good Coffee

I want to be a saint, and I want to drink good coffee. 

I want my home to be filled with both the radiance of Christ's light and the scent of coffee beans. 

When I first drank high-quality coffee, I began to see that my coffee-drinking habits did not have to revolve around the coffee from gas stations or instant coffee granules tossed into microwaved water. As the years went by, I began discovering local coffee shops that use freshly roasted and ground beans to make cups of coffee that are bursting with flavor. I eventually attended a coffee cupping, and my desire for fancy syrups in coffee decreased as I sought to detect the subtle nuances of various roasts and beans. While I don't consider myself a coffee snob, and will happily drink any coffee that is offered to me (even with cream + sugar), I personally want to craft better coffee at home than I'd get at the local diner or gas station. 

Over the past six years, the coffee I make has increased in quality. However, there are moments when I think about how my coffee could be better. When I read books or articles about high-quality coffee, and see the way that water temperature and specific measurements are emphasized, I can feel a little dejected. 

There are so many things I would need to do if I want to make coffee that is ACTUALLY good, I'll think. But those aren't realistic right now. Am I doomed to mediocre coffee for the next several years?

Similarly, I've found that it's easy to look at my spiritual life and say, Well, I can't do x, y, and z, because of work, kids, and life. So what's the point of trying?

Just last summer, I was thinking about inconsistent I've been with getting silent mental prayer in each day. As I berated myself for this, I thought about how there was a period in my life when I would get about an hour of silent prayer + Scripture reading in each weekday. There was another point in my life when I'd visit a chapel every evening for silent prayer before bed. I thought about those times in my life, and wondered why can't I just get back to what I did then?

The reality is that I can't get back to "what I used to do," because my life then was very different. That was pre-kids, pre-marriage, and that time when I visited the chapel each evening? My college dorm room was right across the hall from the chapel, so it was easy (and natural) to visit Jesus before I headed to bed. 

But, even if I can't get in an hour of silent prayer each day, and even if I can't achieve high-level coffee at home, I can still take steps towards holiness and good coffee. 

I shouldn't despair because my electric blade-grinder is not as efficient or good as, say, a conical burr grinder would be. I bought the grinder I could afford, it works decently well, and using it has been a small way that I can achieve better coffee. 

I shouldn't despair because my regular mental prayer consists of 5-minute segments in the morning or evening instead of a lengthy period of complete silence while the house is still.
I shouldn't think that just because I don't have a gooseneck kettle or a scale or perfectly filtered water means that I'm doomed to drink terrible coffee at home.

I shouldn't think that just because my prayer books are in disarray and my various devotional prayers are all over the place means that I'm doomed to fail in becoming a more prayerful person. 

Sipping on my coffee, I realize that actually, what I have just crafted is pretty good. It may not be as incredible as the pour-over I could buy from the local roastery, but it's still good. My lifestyle as a mom of young kids, budget, and kitchen space right now are not conducive with a plethora of new gadgets or being highly meticulous like the roastery. That's okay. Instead of focusing on what I can't do or use, I've been learning that I should focus on the small, realistic steps that I can take. 

I've been realizing that God does not want me to despair or beat myself up over not being as contemplative as I think I "should" be. This doesn't mean that I can simply throw up my hands and forget about developing a prayer life. Lately, I've been thinking about how choosing to walk in the light (1 Jn 1:6-7) involves making the conscious and active decision to live according to God's truth. Even if I don't think I'll ever achieve tremendous heights of mystical prayer and deep union with God during my life here on Earth, I can't let my own inadequacies prevent me from embarking on the path of sanctity.

I can guarantee that you will probably never see latte art

in my kitchen, but it's nice to look at, isn't it?

Pursing holiness involves hoisting my lazy self up and proactively making changes as I seek God's will. I may need to take "baby steps" at times, but I can certainly cooperate with God's grace and form habits that will help me to align my life more closely with God.  

I cannot craft better coffee at home simply by saying, "I wish I could make delicious coffee." Instead, I can do things to help me achieve this goal. Maybe it's not what the barista would do, but it's what I can do. So I'll do it, and try to do it well and consistently, and maybe I'll wind up getting that satisfactory cup of coffee. Perhaps I'll even become a holier person along the way.